The Faerie Thorn
From Fog & Fire, 2008	©2007 Brigands' Folie All Rights Reserved.
Get up our Anna dear from the weary spinning wheel. Your father’s on the hill and your mother is asleep. Come up above the crags and we’ll dance a highland reel around the fairy thorn on the steep.	And from the air above and the grassy ground beneath. And from the mountain ashes and the old whitethorn between. The power of fey enchantment through their beings breathe. They sink down together on the green. They sink down together on the green.
At Anna Grace’s door 'twas thus the maidens cried. Three merry maidens fair in the kirtles of the green. So Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside, the fairest of the four to be seen	No scream can any raise nor prayer can any say. But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three. For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away, by whom they dare not look to see.
They’re slinking through the shimmer of the quiet eve away in milky waving of legs and shoulders bare. The heavy sliding stream in it’s sleepy song they leave. To the crags in the ghostly air	'Til out of the night the Earth has rolled her dewy side seeing every haunted mountain and steamy vale below. As the mist dissolves in the yellow morning's tide, the maidens’ trance goes so.
Singing hand in hand, the maids have tamed their way until they dance upon the lone fairy hawthorn grey. Sinking one by one a falcon’s shadow on the shaw hushed the maiden’s voices in the flutter of their awe.	Then fly the ghastly three, as swiftly as they may to tell their tale of sorrow to their anxious friends in vain. They pined away and died within a year and a day. And ne’er was fair Anna Grace ever seen again. Ne’er was she seen again.
©2008 Brigands' Folie - All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.